


Is Something On Your Mind?

by more_than_melody



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/more_than_melody/pseuds/more_than_melody
Summary: She sits still for a long time, Roy's head heavy on her shoulder, his breath soft on her neck. She watches him, out of uniform for the first time in she wasn't sure how long.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Is Something On Your Mind?

The train moves slowly through the mountains, and the view is spectacular. The day is waning – dark golden sunlight slants across the land, warm and soft. A fresh change of view from the desert.

Riza doesn't take much notice of it. Neither does her traveling companion – his eyes are shut with the blissful kiss of sleep, brow wrinkled from something she couldn't see, couldn't protect him from.

It is the first time she has returned this way since she left after her fathers' funeral. She knows that halfway up one of the peaks is an old house with a crumbling roof and an overgrown front porch. The deed is in her name, but she hasn't laid eyes on it in almost five years.

She didn't need to hold on to this reminder of a life that no longer belonged to her. With luck it wouldn't be a problem anymore within a few days.

It was a pity she didn't believe in luck.

She sits still for a long time, Roy's head heavy on her shoulder, his breath soft on her neck. She watches him, out of uniform for the first time in she wasn't sure how long. He had dressed casually in a dark green jacket and t-shirt. "My disguise," he had said, when she had commented.

She can pretend that they are younger, just for this hour while he sleeps. It helps her to block out the memories of the last few months – the sand, the grit, the-

Without realizing it she moves her hand to her hip, the skin on her back itching. The burns have healed, at least as well as they could, but she has not yet grown used to the scars.

Beside her, Roy stirs.

She holds her breath, hoping that he remains asleep. He needs it – if her dreams have been nightmares lately, she can't imagine his.

_How many sleepless nights could they take? Even the warmth of the blankets was suffocating in the middle of the night – she longed for the cold of winter, desperate for the change of seasons so she wouldn't have to remember -_

He had suggested that they go see her old house – his too – as a way to escape. Back in Central he was being praised as a hero, and she could see how it ate at him each time someone brought it up – _a_ _clenched fist, fingernails biting deep into the skin of his palms, the absolute terror in his eyes as his breath comes short -_ Out here, in the backwoods areas of the mountains, he could go unnoticed, and that anonymity held a vast appeal.

She had gone along with it – she thought that the return home would help heal the wounds on him that the doctors couldn't. She knew hers would take more, but despite the blood on his hands, he is still innocent, still naïve and idealistic.

Beside her, he exhales.

"Riza," he murmurs, and she looks down, surprised to hear him speak, surprised to hear him use her name.

He is still sleeping, but the wrinkles are gone, replaced by something serene and peaceful.

She allows herself a small smile. Things between them have changed from the easy friendship of childhood – how could it not, after all that had happened? But something has taken its place, and she finds there is something far more intimate about the absolute trust he has for her now.

When he wakes, it is sudden. There is no gentle easing out of sleep these days. One moment he is still drowsing peacefully against her shoulder, the next he is sitting upright, gripping his knees, knuckles white.

She places a hand on his back and he flinches, turning sharply.

When he sees her his posture eases. Not completely, but his shoulders lose some of that stiffness, his fingers unclenching. She doesn't say anything – she understands – just leaves her hand resting on his back like a lifeline. His breathing steadies.

After a minute he looks away from her, out the window, where a more familiar stretch of countryside is rolling past, recognizable even in the fading light of dusk. It is not far to their stop now.

“We're almost home,” she murmurs.

  
  



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